She loved them all too much
by the flamingo pen
Summary: A mother's day fanfic dedicated to the greatest mother in fiction - Molly Weasley. Happy mother's day to all mothers!
Here they came – bustling in, a little flow of redheads, all jumping onto the bed, their father following behind with a smile. They'd gather around and throw hugs at her, she herself finding herself entangled in a flurry of little arms. She'd laugh as they settled down, all waiting to see who would go first, unsuccessfully trying to hide their cards and presents behind their backs.

Molly loved mother's day.

Bill, tallest and oldest of the lot, would always go first. It was their little tradition – age order, and woe on you who disobeyed. He'd grin at her, and hand her his little objects, all wrapped up. And whenever Molly opened them, she decided that she liked Bill's presents the best.

Bill's cards were always the sweetest. They warmed Molly's heart with their little messages of love, and the well-worn joke that he was the oldest, so he must love her the most. She'd laugh and hug him, and then he'd hand her her present. It was usually some sort of clothing – scarves, gloves, hats, cloaks … most were bought, but some Bill had tried to knit them. These were the ones Molly loved the most, even though they were misshaped and lumpy. She wore them out and about, proudly showing everyone how much her son cared about her, even when she was also fussing at him to get his hair cut.

Then, Charlie would muscle his way past his older brother, and present her with his gift, a cheerful beam on his freckly face. And Molly would decide that actually, she liked Charlie's presents the best.

Charlie's cards were always shorter than the others, but still lovely to read. Of course though, Charlie was more of an action person than a wordsmith. So that's why she was always curious when she opened Charlie's presents. They would be handmade every time, and each year he'd go for something different. A pottery dragon, a collage of pressed flowers, a string of fairy lights (with real fairies that decided to fly around the room…) – they were always beautifully creative, and they made Molly love her little Charlie even more, though she didn't think it was possible for her heart to hold any more affection.

Next was Percy. He always waited patiently for Molly's attention to turn to him, before handing forwards his little card and present. And as Molly smiled and looked at the clever little face with the wonky glasses and anticipating grin, she decided that it was Percy's presents that were her favourites.

Percy was the opposite of Charlie – he used words magically, and they seemed to dance off the page. Sometimes his cards contained poems, or even riddles, or just a long paragraph to tell her exactly how much he loved her and why. It would bring a tear to Molly's eye as she pulled him into a hug that he smiled away. His presents were always nice – barely ever homemade, but a lot of chocolate – but the highlight was definitely the beautiful little sentences inside the card that made her day for the rest of the year.

The only thing Fred and George did separately were mother's and father's day gifts. Birthdays, Christmases, and everything else was always from Fred and George, but for their parents they doubled down on the effort. When questioned about it, they always replied that their parents had to do enough for the both of them, so they deserved enough thanks for the both of them.

George's cards always thanked Molly for loving him, "even though he was a twit sometimes", and said that he loved her more than anything. Molly loved George's cards, but she could tell that he puts more effort into his presents. There were usually photos – he would manage to get photos onto mugs, pillows, and even in rings or bracelets. Molly cherished these presents, as they were little clips of moments when her children were still young and in her protection, before they went out into the world of danger every parent fears. In that moment, Molly would decide as much as she loved the other presents, George's were the best.

But the very next second, Fred would hand over his presents, and Molly would think that no, Fred's gifts were definitely her favourites.

Fred's gifts were the best because they always managed to bring a laugh. The cards always had a joke that Molly found funny, and the message inside was always perfectly tailored to her sense of humour, one of Fred's many inexplicable powers. Fred's gifts lightened up the emotion in the room, and Molly always loved them simply because they were so Fred. They popped into mind when she thought of him, along with his presents – little joke sets, but things that she would enjoy: a rubber rolling pin she could pretend to whack them with, a 'never ending' scarf that she could wrap everyone in, a fake firewhiskey glass she could use to trick Arthur. And he would smile and wink at her, a gleam in his brown eyes, and she would love him to bits as she pulled him close.

Then, her youngest boy would romp forwards, pushing his gift to her. Ron would grin hopefully, still nearly clambering onto her lap even though he was practically as tall as the twins now. Molly would open his present and card and decide that in the end, Ron's gifts were the best.

Ron's cards, like Charlie's, weren't the most special. They'd be lovely (albeit occasionally jam stained) with a long message inside describing how much he loved her – but the best thing about Ron's cards were that he thanked her for everything she'd done for him in the last year: cooking him meals, washing his socks, cutting his hair, and "generally being the best mum." Molly was always struck by how much her children appreciated her when she read Ron's card and saw that little face smile up at her. Then of course, there were Ron's presents. Every year, the day before mother's day, Ron would take on the challenge and try to bake something for his mother, to thank her for all the things she'd baked for him. Most of the time, it was a spectacular disaster. The burnt flapjacks, the overly lemony icing, the cupcakes that refused to rise … but as Molly looked into his little face, eager and hopeful, wanting to stand out from his many brothers, felling like they were better than him, she always grinned at him and said he should open a bakery. Then the extra-long hug just to reassure him she treasured him as much as the others.

Finally, the little girl Molly had longed for even though she wouldn't trade any of her brothers for her, got to get up and crawl over to give mum her present. Ginny would grin and Molly would smile as she saw a mix of all her brothers gather in her eyes. Then, she'd open her gifts, and decide, finally, that Ginny's were the best.

Ginny would always hand draw cards. She was the only one in their family, really, with much artistic talent, and her drawings were always beautiful little scenes of happy redhead families going on adventures. In these ones, the mother was always front and centre – defeating the dragon, leading them over the mountain, tiptoeing over the rickety bridge, running from the mummy… Molly could smile at her daughter's drawings for days, awed by the fact that all this imagination could be contained in one tiny head. Often Ginny's presents followed the same theme – canvases designed with hearts and flowers, framed pictures she had drawn and water-coloured, three dimensional pictures she'd done using pipe cleaner and tissue paper. Molly would always hang them on the wall, and even though after a while Ginny got embarrassed at her earlier drawings, she wouldn't have moved them for the world.

And as they all gathered on the bed and ate Ron's badly cooked sweets, swapping cards, presents and stories, Molly would look at her family and decide that actually, her favourite gift was undecidable.

She loved them all too much.

 _Hi everyone!_

 _I managed to write this as the idea came to me just earlier today, so I thought it would be a nice cute one to put on here._

 _Cheers to the greatest mother in fiction!_

 _Flamingo_


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